So this is the hundredth chapter. I bring you a fan art, a normal art, and a fanfic. Warning: suicide attempt, talk of suicide, etc. Part 3 of my little series.

•—•
    He felt ice, a cold rush you get when dumped headfirst into a frozen lake. The world around him blurred and sharpened, a whirlwind of blue, black and grey. He felt as if falling into an abyss, bottomless, falling forever.
    The first thing that registered in Alex's mind was pain. Mostly in his arms. Then he realised that since he could feel pain, he was alive. It didn't work.
     Disappointment his him so hard, planted so deep, he felt tears spring up.
    How much of a failure could he be?
    When he had first reached consciousness, he reacted violently.      Thrashing and screaming even if his throat was sore, tearing the stitches on his wrists, righting the doctors and nurses that came rushing in, a cry of fury and disappointment and regret and sorrow and pain bursting from his lips.
     Then the pain became so intense, black spots danced before his eyes and he had fainted.
    The next time he awoke, John was there.
    Those green eyes filled with relief and love and care, it made him sick.
    He wasn't worth that.
    "Alex...." John whispered softly, making as if the touch his hand.
    He recoiled, flinching. "P-please." He said hoarsely, shaking his head, ignoring the spiking pain it caused. "Please don't touch me."
    Hurt flashed in John's eyes, but he nodded in consent.
    Alex hugged his knees, turning to the other side and staring at the wall. It felt like him, empty and dull.
    If given the chance to rewind, would he do it again?
    Yes.
    He closed his eyes, thinking of his home in the Caribbean, before everything went wrong. The blue waves crashing against the white sand, the cool sea breeze under the warm sun, his mother's tinkling laughter sounding like song.
    He closed his eyes, letting the dark waves of slumber wash over him.
-•-
     When he woke up once again, Lafayette and Hercules were there.
     For an instant, fear shot his heart and he scrambled back, like a cornered animal.
     "Alex? Alex!" Hercules's eyes widened and he held up his hands. "We won't hurt you."
     Lafayette followed suit, mouth twisted as if holding back tears. "Mon ami, you might tear the stitches. Relax, it's us. Please, Alex."
     Alex whimpered, clutching his hands towards his chest, once again aware of how much it hurt. "I'm sorry."
     "You don't have to apologise. You did nothing wrong, you were scared." Lafayette said softly.
     Hercules nodded. "You want anything, buddy?" He tried for a smile. "Hungry?"
     Alex shook his head. "I just want quiet. To be left alone." He whispered.
    "We can't." Lafayette said, shaking his head.
    We don't trust you to be alone. Not after last time.
    Those words were left unspoken, but everyone could hear it.
     "Of course." Alex said, feeling tired. "Do what you wish." 
     Hercules's opened his mouth to speak, then thought better and kept silent. They sat back down on the chair against the wall, watching Alex carefully.
    The room was silent once again.
-•-
     Eliza and Angelica had also visited, like fire and water. Angelica glowed with fury, restraining herself from slapping him. Eliza watched on silently, watched as Angelica burned out her fuel and leaned in and hugged the boy, sobbing.
     Eliza then stepped forward, holding his hand despite his flinch, locked eyes with him and spoke four words: "You are never alone."
    Angelica updated him with what happened while he was preoccupied. Alex stayed silent, savouring this moment, one of the moments where the voices in his head were quiet.
     Eliza didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the visit.
-•-
    He's been there for two days, four if you've count the days he's been unconscious. Yet it felt like an eternity.
     He had trouble writing as well. Yes, the wound was deep and would take weeks to heal, but that isn't it. He noticed the his hand would spasm at times or go numb. He would sometimes lose control or shake so hard he would drop his pen.
    He couldn't write.
    The doctors say it was because he had hit a nerve. Mentioning words like blood vessels and nerves and neurones.
    He couldn't write.
    His friends looked on with pity. They didn't know how much writing meant to him. It was his form of release. When writing, he was free to express, he was carried away to a world where he had control.
    Later that night, when his friends went home, when the city slept, when the hustle of the hospital died down, he wept.
    Bitter tears streamed from his eyes, thinking of everything that happened. He hugged himself, curling into a ball. The hospital's unnatural harsh brightness and the beeping of machines would always be seared in his mind.
    He clenched his fists, letting out a cry of surprise at the starburst of pain. He stared at his hands, always shaking, a symbol of how pathetic he was.
    He didn't even succeed at killing himself.
     He looked out the window, the moon almost full, bright and radiant, a light in the darkness.
    He longed to go there, to fly, to soar above all the pain and sorrow of the world, to a place where nothing could hurt him.
-•-
     He became withdrawn, building a wall around his heart. He can't be hurt if no one could reach him. He drifted through life.
     They were all worried. Where was the spark in his eyes? Where was the life in them?
     All day, he sat on his bed, staring out the window, food laid untouched, always silent.
     What happened to Alex?
    Two weeks since Alex was in the hospital, Peggy arrived.
    "Alex?" She called, entering the room, closing the door gently.
    Peggy was a bubbly girl in nature, but she had a heart of gold, and a large brain to match it.
    "Right." She sighed, biting her lip. Alex was perched on his bed, hands on his knees, gazing out the window.
    At the sky. Peggy realised.
    "I see how it is." A flicker of surprise, not much, but enough. "You've locked yourself away. You've built a wall around your heart and cut all ties."
    He stayed silent.
    "You've grown tired of being hurt, you want to feel numb instead. Empty."
    An imperceptible twitch.
    "It won't work." She said matter-of-factly. He said nothing.
    "You can choose to stay away from the world, to ignore it all, but that won't help you. That will just cost more pain. Break that wall down, come back to us." She said gently.
    "Let us help. We  can help. You don't have to do this alone. We all have been hurt, and we all carry scars. But those scars, those flaws, they don't make us weak, they make us strong."
    "They define us. They've made us who we are. We learned and we move on."
    "You know what gets me through life? It's knowing that I have friends and family who care for me. That I am never alone. So are you. We are all here for you. We're waiting on the other side, all you have to do is to open the door."
    A single tear fell down his cheek. Peggy smiled. "Think about it." She walked out, the door closing silently.
-•-
    Burr had also visited. They sat there, in silence, words left unspoken. They stayed this way for what seemed like hours, mourning their losses and how to move on.
-•-
     That was a stupid move on the nurse's part, letting him out. Alex mused. Then again, he had begged and pleaded. The poor girl looked so flustered.
    He walked up the stairway, to the roof. The hospital seemed quiet.
    It was dawn.
    The roof was washed in red, orange and gold, yet there were still shadows lurking. The in-between. Not yet day, yet not yet night.
    He stood facing east, where the sun was rising.
    He felt a sense of calm feeling, every turmoil in his heart put at ease.
    How he wanted to fly, to go away. How it would be so easy to do so.
    He looked beyond the edge, where the busy cars of New York City never stopped.
    He stepped up, an inch away from falling.
    There was a light wind today, blowing his hair back, letting him taste the sweetness of it. The sun rose on the horizon, rising, as he would soon be doing.
    Rise up.
   He caught a glimpse, maybe an illusion, but still there. The Washingtons. His mother. Everyone he loved who he lost. All waiting.
    He felt himself lean slightly forward, the sun shining on his face.
    He wasn't falling. There was a hand on his arm.
   "Wait."

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